Meeting Fionna Duncan
by gforcejedi
Summary: When Fionna is fired from her job at the CIA, she finds a new adventure waiting for her in London-along with some new friends. But when you're friends with Sherlock Holmes, how safe are you? Cancelled-if anyone want to take over, be my guest. :)
1. Chapter 1

"_The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you._

_You just got to find the ones worth suffering for."_

_-Bob Marley_

The young woman peeked out of the windows of the cab. It was raining torrentially—she was glad she was in the car. Her fingers tapped impatiently as she tried to think about how her first day at New Scotland Yard would go down. It had been so long for her…she couldn't wait to get to the crime scene. Still, she had questions racing through her head.

I wonder if they'll be the same as my old teammates. Wouldn't be so sure. This is England, after all.

I wonder if they'll accept my techniques. Last time they weren't too keen about them.

_I wonder if they'll have someone that can work with me._

She'd find out soon enough.

* * *

Everything was eerily quiet in 221b Baker Street.

"Sherlock, your mobile."

"Hmm?"

"It got a text."

"Ah! Finally!"

Sherlock Holmes shot up from the chair and raced towards the kitchen where he'd left his cellphone. John Watson shook his head in utter disbelief.

"It's only been two day without a case, you can't be this desperate," he shouted to Sherlock, who was busy reading the text.

"Sherlock, are you even bloody listening to me?" John was losing his patience. Then Sherlock spoke up.

"John. JOHN. It's Lestrade, he's got a case for us! Oh yes! Possible suicide in an apartment building in Cardiff—oh, this is brilliant." Sherlock was disturbingly animated as he put on his Belstaff coat. John groaned and stood up, walking over to the door.

"You know, it's not exactly proper to get excited about someone dying…." John started, but Sherlock was already outside, hailing a cab.

_Why do I even bother? _He thought, following Sherlock.

* * *

"Please, please no! Don't make me—no! No more!" the man cried out.

"Tut, tut. Someone doesn't like my little arrangement. That is unpleasant…. Well now, this won't work anymore, will it? Oh don't worry—many people are willing to do this task. It won't be to difficult…to replace….you…" The other man's mouth curled into a smile.

The crying man looked up at him. "Oh, no, no you can't! I'm sorry! I—was lying! I'll do it! Please don't—don't hurt me! Please!" He begged.

The other man's voice rang with false sympathy. "Too late for that, Mr. Lewis. So terribly sorry this had to end this way for you." Two guards burst in, dragging the crying man away. The other man waved.

"Next time, I'll think harder about who I sponser," he shouted out.

"No! NO PLEASE NO!" the crying man sobbed.

He continued to sob, until his voice was silenced with gunshots.

**This is my very first attempt at a fanfic, so bear with me.**

**Sorry this chapter was so short; I wanted some feedback before I write more.**

**I'm probably going to continue this, so if you liked it, R&R and follow it! :)**

**Thanks! ~Sydney (gforcejedi)~**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm sorry about the wait, I've been WAY busy with everything...my friend's horse had a foal, I had schoolwork...ugh. So much stuff. I made this chapter longer, I hope you enjoy!**

**BTW, owning ****_Sherlock_**** is the BBC's division, not mine.**

* * *

Here at last.

She walked over to the grey-haired man, who grinned brightly at her. She smiled back, but he could tell it was a bit forced.

"Hello, Fionna. We're glad you could make it," DI Lestrade told her, while looking over his shoulder, obviously waiting for someone else.

"Oh, you didn't need me. There's someone else coming here, I'm sure," she said quickly.

"How?—Never mind. I know what you're like. And, you're not the only one," he looked at her to gauge her reaction. "We have someone coming who may just be your match…"

"No. There's no one like me."

* * *

John tapped his fingers impatiently against the seat of the cab. Sherlock was sitting, hands in prayer position, consumed by deep thought_. As always_, John groaned internally. An awkward silence hung above them, and John felt he had to break it.

"So…did you hear about the new team member Lestrade hired?" he finally asked.

"What?" Sherlock didn't bother to look up.

"Lestrade. He hired. A new employee. For. The. Yard." John spoke slowly, almost sarcastically.

"John, why would this be any of my concern?" Sherlock sighed deeply, failing to hide his annoyance.

"Because he thought she was a bit like you, he'd thought you two would get along…"

Sherlock sat upright, turned to face John, and looked him straight in the eyes.

"No. There's no one like me."

* * *

The cab pulled into the driveway near the apartment building. Normally, they'd have been dropped off closer to the other officers, but there were so many cops, EMTs, and (possible?) neighbors around that there was nowhere to go but the house across the street. John and Sherlock got out of the cab and headed towards the crime scene (well, Sherlock bolted).

Unfortunately, the person who they saw first wasn't on the list of their favorite people.

"Hello, John. Freak," Sergeant Sally Donovan greeted the two men in her usual smart-ass voice. "Lestrade's inside, with the new girl. I call her Freak #2. God, she's a carbon copy of you, it's frightening," she spoke to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked confused. "Girl? John, you never said anything about a girl being the new officer," he spurted out.

"Yes, yes I did. I remember specifically saying, 'Her' in the cab." John paused. "Oh, wait, you weren't listening, _as usual_." Sherlock just rolled his eyes and ducked under the crime scene tape. "Let's just get this over with. I may want a case, but I don't want to be working on it with a whiny woman," he muttered. John shook his head. He could easily tell that Sherlock was no Casanova, that's for sure.

They walked forward into the complex, and up the staircase. When they reached the top, where the victim's door was, they saw Lestrade talking with Anderson.

"Anderson, I don't care. She's one of our best right now. I'm not asking her to leave just because she hurt your feelings!" He looked rather irritated.

"You should've heard the way she was talking to me, Lestrade! She's a downright bitch!" Anderson spat.

"If you can't deal with it, you may leave, if you wish," Lestrade rubbed his forehead in agitation.

"Maybe I will! Good God, Lestrade, next time screen your applicants carefully—pick one with a halfway decent personality!" Anderson stormed away, cursing under his breath. John looked shocked, while Sherlock had a smirk on his face. Lestrade noticed them staring.

"Sorry about that. She, um, isn't a 'people person', if you catch my drift," He apologized.

"No one is a people person around Anderson. It defies nature," Sherlock told him. "Now, can we go and see this murder and possibly the woman who so appropriately pissed off Anderson?" He started to walk towards the door.

"I'm not even going to ask how he knew it was a murder," John muttered, remembering it was supposed to be a suicide. He followed Sherlock, with Lestrade in tow.

* * *

Fionna bent over the young man's bloodied body, then looked around the room, absorbing every little detail she could find.

_Altered façade. Plastic surgery._

_Affluent, then. Especially judging from the expense and location of the flat._

_Music records everywhere. Some are classic, but many are late 90's-era. iPod found with numerous Top-40 pop songs and podcasts. So he's a radio personal._

_Pictures of a young woman around the flat—she's usually holding his hand or kissing him in each one. His girlfriend, then. Same age, same fake look…could she have been the murderer…? If so, what was her motive—_

Her train of thought was derailed by the sound of a doorknob turning. "Come in, Lestrade," she said without looking up from the victim. Instead of Lestrade, Sherlock immediately marched into the ample room. John and Lestrade followed.

"Fionna," Lestrade spoke to her, "I brought you help. If you need it."

"I don't, but I s'pose it'll be nice having a fresh pair of eyes-" She looked up and froze when she saw Sherlock.

"I've…seen you before. Somewhere, I know I have," she murmured.

"I'm sure you have, I'm quite good at what I do," Sherlock remarked. John gave him a stern, ex-army-doctor look, which he brushed off.

Sherlock stepped over to the body. He looked over it, and then he looked over Fionna, who was consumed by her work.

She wasn't too tall, maybe around 5'5"…maybe less. Average build and weight, heart shaped face, with pretty nice cheekbones. Her skin was tan and her hair was ginger, but her dark roots and eyebrows confirmed that it was an artificial color. _It suits her_, he mused, then shook that thought out of his head. No time to be trivial. He noticed her Scottish accent when she spoke, it was thick, but slightly wearing…so she had been living somewhere other than the UK recently.

But what intrigued him most of all was her eyes. They were dark, dark brown, so dark they looked black, but with a slight hue of red. It wasn't just that, however. They told a story. One look in her eyes told him that she had faced a lot of things she'd rather forget, but she plowed through it, even if it took away from her humanity. He could relate. Suddenly, he forgot about the body, the case, everything.

This woman…._she was like him. _Sherlock Holmes was looking in a mirror.

And it scared him to death.

* * *

**I have to admire the courage that Fionna has for fighting with Anderson like that :)**

**Reviews to me are like cases to Sherlock, I can't get enough!**

**~Sydney~**


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